


Ginny Weasley and the Return of the Secrets

by artemis75



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cutting, F/M, Post - Half-Blood Prince, Sadism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis75/pseuds/artemis75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot can go wrong at Hogwarts during war. Death eaters can invade the school. You can be resorted into a house you know you don't belong. Fate can bring up the one person that you never wanted to see again. A lot can go wrong. The only question is to what degree it can go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an edited re-post of an old story that I started quite a while ago, but never finished on fanfiction.net under the title: "Adventures of Ginny Weasley: 6th Year at Hogwarts". This story takes place during Ginny's 6th year while Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all out looking for the horcruxes.

The war feels as if it has been going on forever. Throughout almost half of my life, our world has not known peace, certainly not my life. All of this is why, contrary to what would be considered good judgment, I was sent to Hogwarts, which after the fact had been taken over by the Death Eaters. What was supposedly the safest place in the wizarding world, had been breached by the snakes.

The Death Eaters ran the school just the same as it had ever been ran. The muggle borns were separated and held in the dungeons, but other than that, even the blood traitors were allowed to move about the castle, but not without strict oversight. Apparently, they didn’t want any more wizarding blood to be shed than what was needed so that the race could continue to prosper—or something along those lines.

Here, even though I was a Weasley, even though I was known as Harry Potter’s girlfriend (or “slut” depending on who you asked), no one paid attention to the youngest Weasley. The lack of attention made school easier, but it didn’t come with many more benefits.

I couldn’t blame my plummeting grades on the Death Eaters though. Many of them were actually decent teachers, most likely from teaching their own children dark arts during the breaks. Amycus Carrow had taken over my Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which had become more of a Dark Arts class; Rookwood took over my Ancient Runes class; Beatrix Lestrange took over my charms class; Karkaroff, who switched schools, took over my History of Magic class; Pettigrew, the stupid rat, took over my Transfiguration class; Nott Sr. took over my potions class; Vitis, a Death Eater of whom I’d never heard of, took over my Herbology class; and finally, Crouch Jr., who had somehow managed to avoid the kiss, took over my Arithmancy class. Snape was currently our Headmaster, undoubtedly taking orders from Voldemort.

All of the previous Hogwarts teachers had been replaced by Death Eaters, thrown in cells with the muggle borns so that they wouldn’t be able to take part in the final war.

But none of what went on in here really mattered, not compared to what went on outside of these walls. How were Harry, Ron, and Hermione all doing? The Order? If things were anything like they were in here, it was very likely that the number of faithful Death Eaters now matched, if not superseded ours. My grades had begun to slip as all my thoughts were overcome by the worries of my family, of my friends, of all of The Order.

Hardly any of the Order parents had sent their kids to Hogwarts this year, and those children that had been sent were essentially stuck, worrying. We weren’t really allowed to talk amongst ourselves much, which most of us that were left didn’t have much faith left in anyone and kept to ourselves anyway.

Every day, I couldn’t help but wish for what I had my first year. For someone to talk to. For someone that would listen and just make everything better. Someone that could take away my pain. My tears. I wanted Tom, but I couldn’t. Tom was the reason for all of this—Tom tried to kill me. Anyone even remotely like Tom would surely just inflict more pain on my life. Wouldn’t they?

I shook my head, willing the thoughts to go away so that sleep could overcome me. I was going mad in here—mad waiting.

There was a loud bang outside that shook the castle, stirring surely everyone and everything within. I personally shot up and reached for my wand out of pure instinct. A few of the others seemed to do the same, but there were many that still just laid in bed. After what seemed like eternity, the door was opened and Alecto Carrow, our new head of house, waltzed in.

“All of you,” she barked, illuminating the room with a flick of her wand, “up. _Now._ Get dressed. We’re going to the Great Hall.” She stormed out and she could be heard yelling the same thing to the other rooms.

We all did as was ordered in silence, not wanting to again be subjected to the torture that the Carrows had grown accustomed to dishing out. In about ten minutes, all Gryffindors, along with the rest of the school, were standing in front of the doors to the Great Hall, Snape standing before us all as some brave students whispered softly amongst themselves.

“Silence!” he snapped, immediately silencing all students. “Once you walk in, you will stay silent. Understand?”  A few students nodded as he continued. “Your new headmaster has arrived and wishes for you all to immediately be re-sorted.” There were a few whispers that quickly died as they saw the look of rage that flashed over Snape’s face. “I want you to all understand, although he may appear young, you are to show him more respect than you have shown any other headmaster. Some of you may recognize him, but most of you will not. Also, there will be no complaining about any re-sorting that may occur, understand?”

I was a little curious to see who this new headmaster was. He must be someone pretty important to have knocked one of Voldemort’s top Death Eaters from the top position in the school. Voldemort himself surely wouldn’t come to the school, it was almost too obvious of a place. It was the place of one of his greatest humiliations. It was guarded, but at the same time… It just wasn’t secret enough for the most sought after dark lord.

We were arranged into lines by house in alphabetical order. Slytherins were all the way to the left, followed by Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor. Then, like cattle, we were ushered into the hall.

Standing at the front of the room, next to the stool with the sorting hat, was none other than Tom Riddle—a probably twenty year old, human looking Tom Riddle, not the snake-like humanoid that I had seen at the end of my last year. Dread sunk deep down into my very being as I saw him. It took every fiber of my being not to turn and run out of the room as the doors to the hall shut with a bang. All I could do at this point was keep my head down and pray that once I walked up, he wouldn’t recognize me.

He couldn’t recognize me, right? The diary had been destroyed. Dumbledore even confirmed that the diary had been destroyed, and no one was as brilliant as what he was. But Dumbledore’s dead, now isn’t he? And Voldemort is now running the school. I took a deep breath in, held it for a second, and then breathed out. This sort of doubt wasn’t what was needed in times like this. I had to be strong. I had to be strong for everyone on the outside. Doubt about Dumbledore’s knowledge of horcruxes wasn’t going to help us.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the sorting of all the other students.

“Ms. Weasley, I assure you, you’re not exempt from the sorting, so if you could please, make your way up here so that we can all go back to bed, it would be much welcomed,” Tom, Voldemort, snapped at me.

I held my head down as I walked up, if my family saw me now, they would surely be disappointed. Ron, Fred, George, Charley, Bill… they’d all have their heads held high right now, but I just couldn’t risk him recognizing me.

As soon as I had sat, the hat was dropped onto my head, the brim of it going far down past my eyes, making me feel even smaller than what I was, and even smaller than what I had already felt.

_Ah… Ms. Weasley… It’s been… Five years since I last took a look into your mind. Oh, how you’ve changed… Interesting… Interesting… You’re a very talented witch. You’re quite brilliant, but you lack the motivation to do the work… You’ve become quite an outcast in your own right. Helga would have loved to take you under her wing… But it doesn’t seem to be a correct fit. You’re still loyal, but it’s different than what it used to be… You’re more reserved. You’re…_

_That’s interesting. You’ve learned Parseltongue? Now when and how did you exactly did you accomplish that…?I think I’ve made my decision… “Slytherin!”_

“NO!” I screamed, throwing the hat off of my head.

Immediately the hall burst into noise. Angry stares were shot my way from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. I was the center of attention, panicked, and steps away from a breakdown.

This wasn’t right! I’m a Gryffindor. My entire family was sorted into Gryffindor. Gryffindor was where I belonged. Why would that hat possibly put me into Slytherin? I didn’t belong there! Did that hat want to further outcast me from everything and everyone?

Maybe I could go sit with the Gryffindors anyway. Surely they would all know that this was a fluke—that the hat was picking up the vibes from the evil man that stood beside me as the sorting took place. With that thought, I started making my way towards the Gryffindor table, but was immediately stopped by a hand on my arm.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Venom dripped off of every last word that came out of _his_ mouth.

“It’s obvious that this was a fluke,” I muttered, head down. “I don’t belong there, sir.”

“We’ll see about that. Go to where your new house sits.”

Against my better judgment, I fought with him. I had never won as a first year, but maybe now I could win as a sixth. “No.” I tried to pull my arm out of his grasp, but it tightened, almost painfully so.

“Go sit with your house,” he hissed at me. “This sort of disrespect will not be tolerated. There will be no re-sorting. If that is where that hat says you belong, that is where you belong. Now _go._ ”

“Just because a hat says that I belong somewhere doesn’t mean that I actually do. Harry decided what house he belonged in, so why can’t I?” I tried again to pull myself from his grasp, but at the mention of Harry, his fingers dug into my arms. Out of pure instinct, I brought my free hand down across his face, the sound echoing through the hall. He let go of me, but as soon as he did, a wand was pointed at my throat.

Everyone watched in silence as this all played out. None of the teachers dared to move to defend their lord, but no one could take their eyes off of the situation that was blossoming before them. And I couldn’t help but smirk as a bright red hand print marred the face of the young dark lord; it almost seemed worth having the wand to my throat.

“No one,” he began, fury encasing his every word, “lays a hand on me. _Crucio_. ” Hot pain shot through my body, pain unlike any other. It wasn’t my first time ever being put under the Cruciatus curse, yet still no pain could rival the degree in which the most evil man of the century was capable of casting. If it had been the Carrows, I would have been able to hold back my screams, but the power that radiated from Voldemort was so much stronger. My high pitched scream echoed throughout the room. It felt like forever before he finally lifted that curse. I could still feel the shadow, the echo, that the curse had left behind, and even it was unreal.

I had collapsed under the curse, and shakily, I stood back up, head hung before looking into his eyes, then turning towards the Gryffindor table. Their faces still read betrayal as I took a step towards them. That’s all the further I got before I was once again hit with the Cruciatus curse. This one seemed to be a little lighter than the last, but not by much and I was once again, crippled and screaming.

“Are you quite done yet, Ms. Weasley?” the young lord asked as he again released me from the curse.

“Not quite.” I brought out my wand, attempting to shoot a disarming spell—for whatever good that may do me.

With a flick of his wrist, he both blocked the spell and disarmed me with his own. Finally, I held my head, hopeless, not moving to get up only to be knocked back down. I would have to wait before I would be able to do anything of use. I certainly had no chance without a wand.

He came over, grabbed me by the same arm as before and dragged me back up. “Come on.” He led me over to the Slytherin table, placing me beside Draco Malfoy, who had returned shortly after all muggle borns and old teachers being placed in the dungeons of the castle. “New assignment,” he began, speaking to Malfoy. “Watch her, have someone else watch her, I don’t care. Make sure she stays with Slytherin. Or are you incapable of doing that too?”

I saw Malfoy wince at the last part. “I can do that, my lord,” he answered bowing.

“Good.” And with that, Voldemort made his way back to the front of the room.

With his back turned, I moved to get up so that I could leave the room. I needed out. I needed away, but Malfoy grabbed my arm. “Do you want to get in even more trouble, Weasley?” he hissed under his breath.

I shot him a glare, but I didn’t move to get up. I just had to wait.

“Draco,” Voldemort called out before throwing my wand, which Malfoy snatched with Seeker precision. “You can give this back to Ms. Weasley in the common room. Now… some of you know who I am. I know both Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Weasley know who I am, but most of you do not, am I correct?” There was silence. “I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, but most of you will know of me as Lord Voldemort.” He smirked. “Here, you will call me Headmaster, Professor Riddle, or my lord. You _will_ show me respect.” He swept his arm across the room. “You will realize that all of your robes have been changed to match your new house. Your belongings have been re-located. All passwords have been changed. Those seen attempting to go back to their old house will be punished. Prefects, you will lead your houses back to your house. You’re dismissed.”

“Slytherins, follow me, Draco called out, standing up, not letting go of my arm as he led us all to the common room. Everything down here was so dark and as we got closer to the Slytherin common room, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Chamber of Secrets. “We’re here,” Malfoy stated, stopping in front of stone wall. "The password is Parseltongue. Passwords are posted in the common room and stay up for two days. If you don’t know it by then, you’re sleeping outside or you have to hope someone will come let you in. The layout should be the same as any house you’re coming from.”

The wall opened to reveal a common room quite similar to that of Gryffindor’s, but the colors were changed. It seemed darker, harsher, than the Gryffindor common room had ever been. I wanted more than anything else now to go back to Gryffindor tower. I couldn’t sleep here.

“Here Weasley.” Malfoy let go of me and handed me my wand. “Hey, Pansy,” Draco called as she started to walk by.

“What do you need?” She sounded civil enough towards Malfoy. It made me wonder if all the rumors of them being an item were really true.

“I need you to watch her. I very well can’t have her staying in the boy’s dorm with me.”

“I can do that. Come on, Weasley. You can go get some things; we have an empty bed in my dorm, so you’ll be staying in my room with me, okay?”

By this point most of the student’s had gone off their rooms to go back to sleep, so it was now that I needed to try to get away. A deserted common room was much better than a crowded dorm room. I pointed my wand at Pansy, “Stupefy.”

Pansy must not have expected it since it hit her, but immediately after hitting her, I was hit with a full body binding spell, I felt myself fall backwards, and everything went black.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Everything was cold. The smell of rot, decay, and moisture settled like a thick fog. My robes were soaked all the way through, hanging heavy on my body. My head pounded, but I just couldn’t exactly remember why… Did I hit my head? Yeah… I was hit with a body binding spell, so I must have. Did that mean I was still in the Slytherin common room? It was dark enough to be the common room. If things were normal, I would be in the Hospital Wing right now, but things weren’t normal. Tom—Voldemort was back in the castle that he used to call school, and the last time he inhabited it… even just his memory…

I slowly opened my eyes and stared up at the high ceiling, a wave of déjà vu washed over me and quickly, I shut my eyes. No… no, no, no. I could feel my stomach tighten and bile rise up into my throat. This had to be a dream. Dumbledore had closed the chamber himself. He said that it would never be opened again.

“Open your eyes, Ginevra. I know that you’re awake,” Tom—Voldemort taunted me.

I became even stiller yet. This wasn’t Tom. Tom was my friend. Tom was the one that when he brought me down here, he would comfort me, playfully laugh at my irrational fear of the basilisk while I was with him, whisper soft promises of everything being okay. But Tom was the one that also tried to kill me…

“Ginevra…” I could hear him move beside me and squat down, my heart starting to race. “Open your eyes.” I still didn’t move. _“Now,”_ he commanded.

I winced and cracked an eye open.

“Sit up, you silly girl.” His voice still sounded so harsh… It made me want more than anything to just curl into a ball, but I did as he demanded. “You’re so much more obedient down here than what you were up in the Great Hall,” he mused. “Is it because you don’t feel the need to prove yourself in front of your peers, or is it because of the memories that this brings back? That’s right, Ginevra, I remember everything. Every conversation has been imprinted into my mind.”

“Th-that’s impossible… Dumbledore said—”

“Dumbledore is dead. Nor was he half the wizard that I am, and you know that just as well, if not more so than anyone else. Dumbledore wasn’t even completely aware of the extent in which my magic extends. When Potter “destroyed” the diary, a fragment of the horcrux attached itself to you, not enough recreate myself, but enough to leave an impression. Another fragment attached itself to a page. A page that you yourself had taken from the diary before discarding it. It was that fragment that was used to restore my age and a portion of my power.”

“How did you even find it?” I quietly asked.

“It called to me, as do all of my horcruxes. And you.”

“So you brought me down here to do what you attempted almost five years ago,” I stated, the earlier dread seeping back into me.

“No. It would be rather pointless. The fragment that fled into you was so small that you really give me more power while you’re alive than with you dead. You’re down here to be enlightened. To be punished.” He stood back up and began to circle around me.

“You consider this to be the hardest place to return, do you not? You wished, more than almost anything, for Dumbledore to have been successful in sealing this chamber, for him to have been right that I would never return to haunt you in this form. Did you not? _Answer me!_ ” he hissed.

I winced again and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with him. Not ever.

“You don’t really need to answer, I’ve already taken it from you head, but I think you should answer it out loud.” Whenever Tom used to say that he thought I should do something, it was the same as a demand to do as he said. It always upset him when I defied him… even more so when I completely ignored him.

A tear slid down my face as I answered, mumbling, “You’re right…”

“What was that?”

“I do wish those things…”

“What. Things. _Say it._ ” He snapped, getting down, inches from my face.

I trembled and shook my head. I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving until you do as I say.”

I mumbled so quietly that I could hardly hear myself. “I wished Dumbledore had been successful in sealing the chamber… and I wish you would have never come back.”

“But that’s a lie, now isn’t it? You did want me back. How many times throughout the years have you wished I was there with you? How many times have you ached to hear my voice. My words. To be respected while at the same time to be under someone in power.” He chuckled for a second. “Oh, I know. You love to be an independent woman, but Potter doesn’t give you what you want. He treats you like a little porcelain doll—doesn’t really show any respect for you. And he doesn’t really have the power to control you. It’s not hard to figure out.”

“Y-you lie. I’ve never wished for you back. And I love Harry for the respect that he shows me. The kindness. The love. But you don’t know anything about that, now do you?” My voice came out harsher than I had meant for it to, it seemed like a defense.

He chuckled again. “You know that I speak nothing but the truth. Why else would you have tied yourself to the diary? Why else would you have originally sought after Potter? His charm? Admit it. I still hold control over you.” His voice became serious, darker, cold… much like it was when I first woke up. “Look at me and honestly tell me I don’t.”

I looked up at him, met his eyes, and the next few words came out perfectly, much to my own surprise. “You have no control over me. None like you used to.”

“Perhaps… You have grown. So, do you know why you are down here?” Tom asked, immediately back to business.

A little bit of bravery seemed to be gathering within me. “Enlightenment and punishment. That’s what you said, wasn’t it.”

Tom moved quicker than I had expected, grabbing me by the arm and hoisting me up to my feet. The room spun around, and I immediately began to stumble as I couldn’t find my footing. Again, the familiar feeling swept over me and I was brought back to my first year. Any courage or confidence I may have been gaining diminished. I was back to being the small little girl that I was in my first year, hoping for someone to come and save me, someone that would never come.

“I don’t appreciate that tone of yours. You will respect me, even if you feel I have no control over you. Do you know why you need to be enlightened and punished,” he snapped, his grip tightening on my arm. I could feel bruises forming from the abuse of the past night where his fingers had and continued to dig in.

I cringed. “L-like always. I have upset you. You never really brought me down here… not conscious anyway, unless I had done something to displease you. There were a few exceptions to that, but that was usually why.”

“And how exactly have you upset me _this_ time, Ginevra?”

“Probably the undermining of your authority,” I blurted out, immediately covering my mouth.

He chuckled again. “Perhaps I should just leave you here and make you get out yourself.”

“I can’t!” I yelled, panicked. “Don’t you dare leave me down here!”

He grabbed my chin and brought his face inches from mine, and when I tried to get away, his grip tightened. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hissed, “tell me what to do. You are weak, under me, and I _own_ you, whether you are aware of it or not. Do I make myself _perfectly_ clear?” His grip got even tighter as he spoke, earning him a small yelp of surprise.

I swallowed hard. Tom—Voldemort had a certain aura that seemed to begin to emanate from him. It was like what muggles seemed to refer to as… static buildup? I think my father said. It was unlike anything that I had ever seen or felt. It was frightening as the power rolled off of him. It made me feel so small…

“ _Do I make myself clear, Ginevra?_ ” His voice was so sharp that it could cut through stone.

“Y-yes,” I stuttered.

“ _Good._ ” He released me, storming off in the direction of Slytherin’s statue as I fell to my knees. “You are such an infuriating girl. You don’t listen. You fight me. You fight my authority. I don’t know what to do with you anymore… Things are different than the way they used to be. You never used to fight me. You never used to argue. Only when you got scared did you… You’ll clean up this attitude of yours. You’ll stay in the Slytherin common room. You won’t hex your housemates. The hat sorted you for a reason… although… I’m curious.

“ _Do you know what I’m curious about?_ ”

“ _No…_ ”

He chuckled. “The shard… it’s given you one of my abilities. You’re not conscious of it yet though… or you would have realized that I just spoke Parseltongue, and you just responded back in it.”

“No…” my voice trailed off. “I didn’t. It’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” he questioned. “A mere baby boy thwarting the most powerful wizard of the time while at his peak. Now that, my dear girl, is impossible. You having a mere shard of myself and that shard giving you some of my power. That’s plausible.”

“I… I don’t believe you. You’re lying!” I screamed, shuffling away over the wet, uneven floor.

He turned back towards me and in a few quick strides, he was right there, hoisting me back up to my feet. He dragged me over to the door. “Say it.”

I shook my head rapidly, my heart rate and breathing increasing. “S-say what?” I questioned, although I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to open the door. The magic on the chamber was ancient and powerful. How powerful, I wasn’t certain, but certainly powerful enough that falsifying opening the door would be fairly hard to hide.

“Open it.”

“I-I can’t!” A couple of tears started to stream down my face.

“Ginevra. Open. It.”

With tears streaming, I finally did as he said.  “ _Open._ ”

The door clicked and swung open, revealing the same passage that I had last seen barely having escaped the Chamber with my life. I could feel myself go limp as the tears fell more freely.

Voldemort picked me up and carried me out of the chamber. I couldn’t see a single thing leaving; I didn’t want to see a single thing. I could hear the hushed whispers after we had re-entered the main hall. I could feel the sunlight hit my face as I was laid down on what felt like a hospital bed.

“Pomfrey,” he called out. Madame Pomfrey was the only one that had managed to avoid being locked into the cells.

She quickly made her way to my bedside. “Ms. Weasley…”

“She likely has a concussion, she’s emotional, and likely needs sleep. Take care of it.” Voldemort commanded before turning to walk out of the room.

“Are you alright, Dear?” she questioned softly.

“Y-yeah.” I wiped off the tears. “The truth is sometimes… a bit difficult.”

“Did he hurt you? Touch you…?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t hurt me; not physically, not really. And no. The concussion is from hitting my head after being hit with a body binding curse. I’m fine.”

She shook her head and walked away, returning with two vials. “I may not like him, but he’s right with the treatment you require. Bottoms up.” She tisked at my uniform before waving her wand, drying it off. “Try and get some sleep, Deary.”

That was the last thing I heard before drifting off to sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

By the time that I had finally woken back up, the dark had already settled over the castle, the only light that entered the room came from the moon and stars outside. When I sat up, I felt much better than I had, the room wasn’t spinning at least. The room was empty, even Madame Pomfrey seemed to have gone to bed. If I were to try to escape, now would be my best bet.

I wouldn’t have my wand, but I could commandeer one later. I just had to get out. I had to escape. I had to escape Hogwarts, the once safest place in the wizarding world. Where I was going to go, I was unsure, with any luck, perhaps I could find and meet up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The resistance here may have had a chance at one point, but with the Dark Lord himself now inhabiting the school, there was a snowballs chance in hell that we would be able to stand against the Death Eaters.

I silently got up out of bed, and made my way towards the large doors of the Hospital Wing, opening them just enough to get out, I carefully slipped through them, shutting them softly before moving onwards. My heart pounded in my chest as ever little noise that I heard or that I made drove me closer and closer to edge. I was so close to an exit of the school when a faint light began to round the corner, and panicked, I slipped into a broom cupboard, praying that I hadn’t been found.

What would happen to me if I were caught trying to escape the castle? If it were Tom, what would he do? If it were a student or another teacher, would they turn me into the Headmaster, or would they deal with it themselves?  I was so close to being out of the building, then all I would have left is a sprint towards the Forbidden Forest, then I would be gone. The chances of me being found would diminish the further from the school that I got. Things would get easier.

I closed my eyes as I waited, anticipating that any moment, the door would be thrown open and I would be dragged back out to be punished. But as time passed, ever so slowly, no one opened the door. After what felt like eternity, I tried the door. It was locked.

Who locks doors from the inside, but not the out? Perhaps I had been found, and they locked me in here until Voldemort had arrived to dish out his own punishment. Or perhaps, this were a prank. Or a deterrent to keep the students from sneaking into broom closets to shag. It didn’t change the fact that I had to get out—I had to leave.

I felt around in the pitch dark, my hands brushing the rusted, old, hardly hanging on, hinges in which the door hung. Other than that, it didn’t appear that there was any other way to escape. Perhaps I could knock the door down. I could stay here, and wait out ‘till morning, see if I could sneak away in the chaos that would undoubtedly be created by a missing Weasley, but they’d be looking for me, security would be increased, my chances of getting away would be flushed away like that. I had to get away tonight. I couldn’t wait, not anymore.

I backed as far away from the door as I could get, dropped my shoulder, and prayed that Quidditch had paid off as I rammed myself into the door. Pain shot through my arm, it wasn’t unbearable though, nothing like being shoved into the stands during a match. When the door didn’t give though, I backed up and rammed it again, this time it beginning to teeter a bit, hanging a bit more of the frame than what it had. Then again, this time, it hanging half off the hinges. With a solid kick, it went down.

All of that noise had to have attracted someone, so I took off, no longer caring about the noise that I made. I through open the doors to the castle, and dug my heels into the ground to keep myself from running into the outstretched arms of a certain, pissed dark lord.

“Good evening, Ginevra,” his chilling voice sent a small shiver down my spine, “taking a midnight stroll, are we? It’s a beautiful night, but you _really_ should be resting.” If this were anyone but Tom, the words may have been spoken with some sort of concern, but his words felt empty with the chilling property of a harsh winter.

“I really couldn’t help myself, _sir_ ; the night just looked so beautiful, I had to come see it unhindered.” I bit back.

“And destroying school property?” he continued, if possible even colder than before.

“It’s in my nature, I’m sure you know about Fred and George having sent home a toilet seat once.” I countered. I had told Tom this when describing those two as a child, and perhaps with a slight distraction, I could maybe find an opening to escape.

“Of course, troublemaking does run in your family; I suppose Slytherin does as well?” His words cut deep, and I could feel the tears of frustration welling up in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let him see me cry. Never again. He took a step closer before continuing. “So, _Ginny_ , perhaps we should make our way back into the castle? Tuck you back into bed?”

Frustrated, I went to shove my way past him, he grabbing my arm as I did so, swinging me back around to look at him. “Such a fiery girl. So, _Ginny_ , what do you suppose we should do to punish your attempted escape?”

“You said so yourself, I was merely taking a stroll. And never, call me Ginny. You don’t have the privilege.” I snapped at him, attempting to wrench myself out of his grasp.

He tightened his grip. “Now, _Ginny_ , what have I told you about lying to me? You’re no good at it. It doesn’t take Legilimency to see that you’re lying. I can read you like an open book, no magic needed. _And_ , if I remember correctly, which I’m sure that I do, a few measly years ago, you demanded that I called you _Ginny_ —that Ginevra made you feel old.”

A wet tear made its way slowly down my face. “W-what do you want from me?” I muttered.

He lessened his grip a little. “You know what I want. I want the little obedient, _Ginny_ , that I used to have, so how should I punish you this time? What will make you listen to me? Obviously, your experience in the Chamber wasn’t enough… What can finally make you see…?”

I ignored him. I wouldn’t respond to him while he called me that. It wasn’t right for him to come back and do this to me. It wasn’t fair.

“So immature, my dear Ginevra. Ignoring me because I use that silly childhood nickname of yours? Don’t you think I have earned a certain level of respect from you?” His grip tightened, likely forming even more bruises from his hands. “Come on, we’re going back inside.”

He pulled me along beside him, waving his wand as we passed the broom closet, repairing the door. I tugged against him at first, but it quickly became apparent that he wasn’t allowing me to get away. We went back into the Hospital Wing, and with a flick of his wand, the room was illuminated, forcing me to squint at the sudden increase in light. He led me over to the bed I was staying and forced me to sit. As his hand gripped my shoulder to push me down onto the bed, a small yelp escaped my mouth, which didn’t seem to go unnoticed by him.

“Take off your cloak.” He demanded.

“W-what?” I stared at him, both shocked and confused at his words.

“Take it off; let me look at your shoulder.” He demanded again.

I swallowed hard and did as he said, feeling awkward without it. Immediately after the cloak was removed, Tom shoved my sleeve upwards, studying the bruises that had both been caused by his hand, and the already black bruises caused by the door. He gingerly touched the bruise, and that was enough to make me wince in pain.

“Stay,” he ordered, walking over to Madame Pomfrey’s medicine cabinet. I squirmed slightly, knowing better than to try running off again, which was for the best as he turned shortly after retrieving a bottle and a cup. As he walked back, he poured a cup of the liquid and handed it to me. “Drink this. It’ll reduce the bruising and speed up the healing of any fractures you may have acquired breaking down that door.”

I looked from him to the glass in his hand. “No. I don’t trust you. It’s probably some sort of potion that you’ll just use to turn me into the obedient little girl that you want.”

His eyes narrowed and he sat the cup down on the bedside table. Then, instead of grabbing ahold of his wand and cursing me, as one would expect, he grabbed a hold of my shoulder and squeezed.

I bit my lip hard to keep from yelling out.

“Do not disrespect me. Understand?” he hissed, applying more pressure when I didn’t immediately answer back.

“Y-yes,” I managed to get out as more and more pressure was applied to the wound. Afterwards, he removed his hand and handed me the cup.

“Besides, if I were simply wanting to make you obedient, it would be so much easier to put you under a simple Imperius curse, but I want true obedience. Obedience out of respect, not force. Now, go to sleep. Tomorrow, you can get your new timetable from Mr. Malfoy. You try to run off again… I will know. You won’t succeed, Ginevra. All that you will succeed in doing is landing yourself in more and more trouble. I also expect to see you at dinner tomorrow.” And with that, he left the room in darkness.

This year was obviously going to be the worst in my history at Hogwarts, my first and the last two all set the bar pretty high. And I could only wonder what he had in store for my next punishment.


	4. Chapter 4

Why was it, that at eleven years old, I had to have been so stupid? Why couldn’t have listened to my parents about not talking to people you don’t know. How could I have not seen that I was communicating with a dark object? Why couldn’t I have had normal friends? Why couldn’t I have seen what was going on? Tears began to stream down my face. I cried myself to sleep that night, feeling hopeless, helpless, and alone.

XxX

I was in a dark, ice covered wood, walking aimlessly—the only source of light seeming to be moonlight streaming through the bare trees, bouncing off of the ice and snow. Looking down, I found myself to be barefoot and dressed in a thin white gown. I could feel the cold biting at my feet as I continued onward, feeling the crunch of snow underfoot and ta few hidden branches stabbing upwards. There was a cold breeze that matched the bite of the snow, but this bit at my exposed legs, arms, and face; a small shiver making its way through my body in response to the chilling temperatures.

As I continued forward, I saw a shadowy figure move through the trees. I froze. Studying the trees ahead of me, I waited to see something move again, waiting a few minutes before taking another step forward. Immediately after stepping forward, I saw it again.

“Who’s there,” I called out, stopping again.

Quiet humming began as soon as I had called out, instantly, I recognized the tune. No one else knew that tune. I had made it up as a child and hummed it to myself in order to calm myself down after my first year when I had been awoken by a nightmare. I had never even dreamt with the tune. That melody was my escape from dreams—from the nightmares.

Fearfully, I began to back away, which was when the figure decided to walk out of the trees. It was me. She was dressed in tight black pants, knee high laced and buckled up boots, an emerald green, black fur lined cloak, with silver snake clasps, and a silver (or white gold) teardrop shaped pendant adorned with what looked to be emeralds and diamonds. She had a very confident aura to her, but it was… it was dark, scary. It wasn’t me.

 _“It’s wonderful to have him back, isn’t it? I mean sure, he’s a little harsh now, but with a little bit of work… we’ll be his princess again.”_ She smirked as Tom walked up behind her from the trees. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug from behind.

He was dressed in a black wool cloak with a long green wool scarf wrapped around his neck, and black boots with black pants tucked into them. His hair was messy, and his expression didn’t look quite as… harsh as what it usually did now. The Ginny I saw looked darker than he did, but he still held the power. That much seemed obvious by the way he carried himself.

 _“Soon, Ginny. Soon… this will be ours…”_ She whispered before fading out and the dream was shattered.

XxX

I woke up, breathing hard to the beginnings of sunlight streaming into Hospital Wing. My heart raced as I tried to calm myself down. That dream was so… it was frightening to not be even in control of my dreams. If I couldn’t be control of my thoughts, I couldn’t be in control of something. If you couldn’t be in control of yourself, what could you be in control of?

Madame Pomfrey seemed to notice that I was awake and walked over. “How are you feeling, Deary?” she asked, looking me over.

“Much better, thank you,” I robotically answered back.

“I think you should be alright to leave now, if you feel up to it.”

“Thanks.” I stood up, put my shoes back on, and walked out of the Hospital wing. I felt disgusting, like I was in desperate need of a shower. I was hungry. But I wasn’t on my way to go catch a shower or grab something to eat… I was on my way to the girls’ lavatory on the second floor. Blindly heading there.

I through open the doors and walked towards the back of the room, feeling the bricks for the one loose brick. The brick that incidentally held a small knife that I had hidden there in my second year. The one place all my pain began was the one place that I ran to ease the pain. No one had found me or the knife in my five years of using it, which when I finally found the stone, and then finally found the knife, I knew that no one would ever find it. No one would ever find out.

Without even moving from the spot, shaking with anticipation, fear, and grief, I pressed the blade to my wrist and dragged it slowly. A line of crimson red pooled around the blade, flowing slowly down the curve of my wrist, branching off into little veins outside the arm, and finally, dripped from my wrist to the floor with a silent splash. It stung, but it left a feeling of euphoria in its wake. So, hypnotically, I picked the blade back up and repeated the process. Again... and again... stopping only when there were seven thin lines adorning my arm. I laid the knife down beside me, shaking even more than I had been previously, but it was worth it. I was in control.

“Oooh… Is the littlest Weasley back again? Are you going to do it this time?” The voice of Moaning Myrtle drew me from my thoughts.

“Myrtle, leave me alone,” I snapped, tired and at peace.

“S-so mean. You’re always coming in here, telling me to leave you alone or to mind my own business. This is my lavatory! Just-just-ahhhhhhh,” she screamed before diving into her toilet, leaving me back in peace.

No one would come in here, not with Myrtle usually hanging around. About the time that I thought that, the door opened, and what sounded like Pansy began to walk in. Stumbling around, I tried to shove the knife back into its little cubby before they could walk in and see it. My efforts were in vain though as she saw the blood running down my arm and she let out a high pitched screech.

Within minutes, I had a small group of people gathering around me, and I staggered, using the wall to stand and shoving my way through the group of people that had been forming. I had made it half way to the Slytherin common room, hoping to find my wand, before I ran into Malfoy. He barely took a look at me before he was stopping me in the hallway.

“Weasley,” he called, but I tried to keep walking anyway. “Weasley,” he grabbed a hold of my arm just above the elbow before continuing, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Malfoy. Let me go.” I tried to pull myself from his grasp, but I felt so tired, weaker than what I usually did after cutting, but usually I healed the wounds as soon as I was done. He must have noticed something, because the next thing I knew he was shoving up my sleeve, exposing the raw cuts.

Malfoy didn’t even have a chance to say anything, which I could tell that he was about to say something by the look on his face, because my least favorite person had just caught up with me.

“What in the bloody hell is this?!” Tom shouted, grabbing my arm out of Malfoy’s grasp.

Ashamed that I had been caught by the single most contributor to my need to cut throughout the years, I turned my head away, closing my eyes and willing the tears not to come. I felt cold and empty inside, and I knew that it was more than just the lack of blood that had caused those feelings.

Tom’s fingers dug into my arm as he reached for my jaw, grabbing it and forcing it towards him. “Ginevra, I asked you a question, and I full well expect you to answer it,” he hissed.

“I-it’s nothing…”

“Nothing?! You call _this_ nothing? How much blood have you spilt through the years when you just felt like it? Do you really think that running away like—like this will really make things better? You’re so infuriating!”

 _“There’s nothing in the rules that say I can’t cut myself!”_ I yelled at him, trying to pull myself out of his grasp as my balance began to slip away from me.

“Do not. Yell. At me,” Tom bit out, before slapping me hard across the face, hard enough to snap my head to the side, but the sting was barely there. “And harming a student is against the rules. Do you really feel that your life is bad enough that you need to escape it?”

“No…” my voice barely came out as a whisper as tears began to flood from my eyes.

“Then tell me, why,” he shook my arm in front of my face, causing me to shove my eyes shut even harder, you find the need to do this. _Tell me._ ”

“I—I—You wouldn’t underst—”

He slapped me again. “Do not. _Ever._ Talk to me like that again. Malfoy, leave us.”

I could hear Malfoy shuffle away down the hall.

I opened my eyes a little to let the tears spill out as Tom pointed his wand at my wrist, healing the wounds to thin pale scars. Incidentally, the glamour spell that I had used to cover the old scars had faded away, showing dozens upon dozens of healed scars of varying lengths and thickness.

“Never again,” he demanded.

“W-what?”

He tightened his grip on my arm before continuing. “Never again, will you do this.”

I remained silent, hanging my head in defeat.

“Do you understand?” His voice was harsh and cold.

I shook my head, not able to bring myself to answer his simple question. I felt too defeated to do anything else.

“Ginevra,” his voice softened as he lifted my chin up to look him in the eyes, “I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

“I…I have to do this…”

“No. You don’t.”

“Yes,” a soft sob hiccupped its way through my throat. “I do.”

His voice suddenly became hardened and cold again. “You will listen to me. What I tell you, you will do. I tell you to stop this—this habit—you stop it.”

“I—”

“I am through arguing with you on this. You won’t do it. Simple as that.”

He released my chin as the sobs racked my body and my knees sunk to the floor. I was falling, but it was softly, and when I had finally met the floor, I was curled into a ball and held tightly by the person whom I had least expected comfort from. He ran his hand through my hair, making soft shhing noises to ease my sobs. Tom had never been this gentle or careful with me. But I felt numb to it all, and finally, I just couldn’t take it anymore, and I blacked out.


	5. Chapter 5

I had dreamless sleep this time; it had been the most comfortable sleep that I’ve had in a long while. It felt like I was sleeping on a cloud, a very soft cloud, sleeping softly, peacefully. Nothing but the feeling of calm mattered to me. I rolled over in my sleep, rubbing my cheek against the soft bedding. It felt softer and more comfortable than any other thing I had felt in my life. Snuggling in closer to the bedding, I was hesitant to open my eyes, and shatter the peace and the comfort that existed, even if it only existed in that moment.

Finally, I opened a groggy eye to begin the cycle of waking up, and within seconds, I had both eyes open and was sitting up, my heart racing as I attempted to take in my surroundings. The room in which I awoke looked different than any other room in the castle. Instead of the stone walls that seemed to overtake all of the building, the walls seemed to be plaster and painted a Slytherin green. The floors were a dark chocolate oak, as was the trim, head and footboard of the bed, both bedside tables, desk with the accompanying chair, bookshelf, and armoire. All of the furniture was also intricately carved in spiral columns with vines imbedded in the spiraling surface.

As I got up out of the bed, my feet landed on a soft rug that matched the rest of the room in color. The room span a little, but quickly straightened back up after a few blinks. There were two doors in this room, opening the nearest one—just to the left of the bed, revealed a beautiful bathroom. The floor was flawless, flowing black marble with a large, white marble tub in the back, with silver faucets forming an arch separating the mirrored wall and the tub that was up against it. On the left side of the room was a large white sink, with its own silver faucets and a large mirror.  On the right side of the room was the toilet and the towels to tub. They were the only part of the room that was not black, white, or silver; they were a matching shade to the green in the previous room.

Observing my reflection, I came to realize that I wasn’t in my uniform, but instead in what appeared to be black silk or satin pajamas, my hair was a mess, but it was a first time in a long time that I hadn’t had dark bags under my eyes. My cheeks looked to be a little sunk in, and I looked thinner than I ever had in my life; my hair lacked its sheen that it used to have. I looked a lot older than what I was.

Angrily, I turned in my heel and stormed out the room. It was _his_ fault that I looked like this. Quickly walking over to the other door, I tried the handle; it didn’t budge.  I tried it again, hoping that it wasn’t really locked, but I reached no different verdict. Slightly panicked now, I began to beat on the door, yelling for someone to come let me out, and after a minute or two, no one had come.

I rushed to the desk, hoping for clues as to where I was at, but nothing other than a quill and inkwell laid on the desk, and the drawers were all locked. My next stop was the bookshelf, which again wasn’t helpful as all the titles on the books were in either different languages or were obviously about dark arts.

Then, the pacing began. Where was I? How did I get here? Why was I here? My heart raced as I paced faster and faster. I needed a plan—some way to get out of here. Anything…

 Wandless magic may work… I thought to myself as I walked back to the door and tried. It didn’t. Frustrated, I rammed the door with my shoulder, trying again to force my way out. All I succeeded in doing was hurting my shoulder, as the door didn’t budge an inch. And I was back to pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Still, nothing.

Then, there was a clicking sound, and the door opened to an aggravated looking Tom—Voldemort. I couldn’t get this monster confused with the young, polite, caring man that I once thought I knew. I had to keep that distinction. I had to, or I would go insane.

It seemed to take him a second to see me, but when he did, he smiled, granted it looked empty and fake. “Ginevra,” he began, “how are you feeling?”

“Where am I,” I snapped.

“Do you want to rephrase the way you said that?” His eyes narrowed. “It sounded quite like a demand, and you don’t look like you’re in the position to be demanding anything.”

“No. I would not like to rephrase the way that I said that. It was a demand. Now answer me!” I yelled, my hands balling up into fists at my side.

One, two, three steps, was all that He took before he was towering over me, his hand coming down hard across my face. It was the first time that he had ever laid a hand on me like that; I couldn’t help but stand there frozen. It stung, more than any other blow that I had ever suffered, which said a lot having grown up with six older brothers and having been on the Quidditch team for a few years now.

And we both stood there frozen for what felt like hours. Neither of us moving. Neither of us saying anything. I could hardly even breathe past the knot that had formed in my throat, but finally, he broke the silence.

“Why must you continue to disrespect me, Ginevra?” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you must know that your attitude can only result in your chastisement… So why do you continue to anger me…?” he trailed off. His voice seemed to hold some sort of sorrow for the way that I acted towards him, but the Dark Lord was incapable of feeling anything other than anger or hatred.

“Because you don’t deserve respect…” I mumbled, looking away from him, staring down at the rug as if it had suddenly become interesting. “…Where am I?”

He sighed. “Where do you think you are, Ginevra?”

My eyes shot back up to him as fury seemed to begin to build back up inside me. “I don’t want to play games with you. Where in the bloody hell am I?”

Tom—Voldemort!—pulled out his wand and held it down at his side. “Ginevra, I really don’t want to hurt you. Why don’t you just calm down.”

“No! I will not calm down until you tell me what’s going on.”

He raised his wand at me. “Watch your temper, Ginevra. You’re I my room; where else could you possibly be?”

“Why aren’t I in the Hospital Wing, or the Slytherin common room, hell, even the Chamber?!” I yelled at him.

Silently, he hit me with the Cruciatus curse, and the minute I was hit with it, I fell to the floor in pain, and the second that I did, he lifted the curse. “Please, Ginevra, restrain yourself. The reason why you are here is because you have shown me that you can escape quite easily from all of the aforementioned places, and I am becoming very annoyed with having to chase you about the castle. Not to mention that you have also pushed yourself past your breaking point and have both passed out and hurt yourself. Speaking of which, when did _that_ begin?” His voice grew colder and colder as he spoke, becoming ice at the end.

I winced slightly. “Why would you care if I hurt myself or not? You hurt me all of the time. You always have, and you always will.”

“Is that really how you view me?” He asked, starting to walk around me. Circling me just as a predator would circle his prey. “Your well-being concerns me as you contain a piece of me that adds to my power. And I have never truly hurt you.”

I actually laughed at this. I couldn’t help myself; maybe I was already insane. “You’re a hilarious. “Y-you’ve never,” I paused for a small giggle fit. “That’s a good one. So are you saying you’ve never cursed me? Never laid a hand on me? Never tried to _kill_ me? Just when I thought the nightmares about the Chamber had gone away, _you came back_! It’s your fault I couldn’t grow up like normal kids! It’s your fault my family is splitting apart! I hate you! You try telling me that you have never truly hurt me. Well, from the moment I opened that diary, you haven’t _stopped._ ”

“Come now, Ginevra. You can’t lie to me about those so called nightmares. I remember you deciding who we petrified. I remember you begging me to take out the mudblood that held your _precious Potter’s_ attention. _Begging_ me to petrify that annoying little brat. If you had any nightmares about the Chamber, it was of you being _caught_ ,” Tom snapped.

“Y-you still have cursed me… and… and stuff…”

“I’m not done,” he bit. “I have only cursed you to instill obedience. I have only hit you _once_ after you have antagonized me to the point that anyone, great wizard or not, would have. I only threatened to kill you in order to lure the one whose life I really wanted to steal, because announcing your disappearance, when no one noticed you anyway, was sloppy. Especially for a dark wizard. And finally, you can’t blame me for your family problems when you have told me how shaky things were back when there was no war. Now quit fighting me!”

My mind began to race as I tried to come up with some sort of retort, but everything he said was true. “Y-you tricked me into it.”

“Try again, Ginevra. I’m no longer in the mood for your games,” he suddenly stopped and brought his face down close to mine. “I hate it when you lie.”

I closed my eyes and tried to back away from him, but he quickly reached out and stopped me. “Why am I even here?” I questioned, desperation showing in my voice.

“I already told you. You keep running away and hurting yourself. I don’t need my secret weapon destroyed because she can’t handle herself.”

I winced and closed my eyes tighter, mumbling. “…And what if I decided to drown myself?”

“Impossible,” he immediately countered, releasing me and standing back up. “Your vitals are being monitored.”

My eyes shot open, and I fought back a scream of frustration. How could he say that so casually?

“Now that that has been settled, how about you calm down.”

Defeated, I let out a sigh. “What day is it?”

“I didn’t drug you, if that’s what you’re asking.” He walked away and plopped himself gracefully into a green armchair beside the bookshelf.

“What day is it?” I repeated.

“It’s only Saturday. You’ve been asleep only since yesterday. You can calm down,” he flippantly replied.

I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “So can I leave no?”

“Absolutely not,” he dismissed.

I stared at him and gritted my teeth, “And why not?”

“Because I don’t want you running off again. You’re too volatile right now to be trusted not to run off and possibly harm yourself.”

“That was the only knife that I owned, and the only one I had ever used. It was more ceremonial than anything. It cleansed the evil you left behind,” I snapped.

“But I don’t know that. You could be lying to me again. Besides, you’ve got two days of classes to catch up on this weekend, and you and I are going to spend the day going over them. Just as I used to teach you through the diary, I will teach you now.” He sat up a little. “How would you like to start the day, Potions or Defense and the Dark Arts?”

I brought my hand up and pinched the bridge of my nose. Today was going to be a long day. I was going to be stuck with Tom, and he was going to try to recreate my first year. _Wonderful._


	6. Chapter 6

I had relocated myself onto the bed, Tom having relocated his chair to a spot adjacent to it. He was lounging lazily in it as if he hadn’t a care. I, on the other hand, sat rigidly against the headboard, legs covered with the silky sheets and a small pile of books arranged to the left of me, separating Tom—Voldemort, and I.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking of him as Tom? He wasn’t Tom. Tom was long gone, buried in my past, never to come back. Before our lesson had begun, I had brought up the question about my change of clothes which he quickly dismissed as having Madame Pomfrey change them. I would be checking that story out later.

Now, we were going over the properties of Amortentia, a potion that I already knew much about after both Harry’s and Ron’s run in with it. Not to mention the fact that most of the girls in the tower had talked about what it would be like to use it to win the man of their dreams. There was also an incident last year where a fan boy had tried to slip me a little of it on Valentine’s Day.

“Are you even paying attention to anything that I’m saying?!” he demanded.

“Of, course I am. How could I not? I’m listening to the most talented wizard of all time, who couldn’t help but be intrigued?” I replied sarcastically, looking away.

“Ginevra, you’re trying my patience. Tell me, what was it I was just saying?” His words came out more like a growl. I guess I was trying his patience, and I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

“To tell you the truth, all I heard was blah, blah, blah, Amortentia, blah, blah, blah, most powerful love potion in existence, blah, blah—” I mocked, not able to hold back my smirk.

“Enough!” he yelled, throwing the closed potions book across the room, it pages fluttering as it flew before smacking hard against the wall. “You will listen to me!” He paused, likely to try and calm himself down before he hexed me. “Let us try this again. The potion has a dist—”

“Distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, with steam that rises in distinctive spirals, and its smell is distinctively different for each that smell it, as it smells like that which one finds most attractive, whether they are aware of it or not.” I shot a glance in his direction. “I can cut you off mid-sentence too, you know.”

This time, his hand seemed to twitch toward the pocket that he keeps his wand, but he managed to keep from pulling it out. Kudos to him. I mean, I was relieved that I wasn’t getting hexed by him, but at the same time, the more he punished me, the more that I was reminded that he and I were on opposing sides of the war and that I may not have that piece of him that added to his power that he preached about. The more he hexed me, the more I could use it to rally the resistance.

“Besides,” I continued, “every woman my age knows about Amortentia. I’ve even helped brew it once or twice.” Alright, that was a lie. I had made the potion myself for Romilda Vane after she caught me brewing love potions for Fred and George’s shop, granted I hadn’t known who she wanted it for otherwise I would have denied her. I recommended that she go purchase a weaker love potion from my brothers’ shop, but she insisted that she wanted the best. I was my brothers’ supplier for love potions, at least until all communication to and from the castle was cut.

“So you’re comfortable enough to brew it without instruction,” he challenged.

“Of course not.” Another lie. “A potion of this level is so temperamental that even a slight misstep can cause it to, well, blow up. Just ask Snape what it’s like to have students screw up a potion. His classroom had to be evacuated more than once because some student or another had managed to skip over a single line of instruction, which is why the brewing of Amortentia is not actually covered in class, but you know that.”

“Of course, Ginevra, but I’m willing to take a chance.” He pulled out his wand and silently summoned another table with an entire slew of potions ingredients, only a handful of them really needed in order to brew the potion. He also summoned another table with a few different cauldrons. And finally, a desk with a burner on top.

As I went for the gold cauldron, as is best to brew love potions but not required, I debated brewing a potion that would explode, but then decided against it. But it would be fun to see Tom squirm as I added my own little ingredient to Amortentia, one that made its shine a little more subtle, thus easier to import and export from the castle, while not effecting the potion’s effectiveness.

After selecting my cauldron, it didn’t take long for me to begin studying the potion ingredients. “You do know that Amortentia takes three days to brew, right?” I asked as I began picking my way through the ingredients, first looking for aconite flowers.

“Of course, but there’s a lot of time that the potion must steep; it isn’t a problem for you, is it?” his tone was amused as he slightly shifted his position to keep an eye on me.

“Of course not. Just be aware that I don’t plan to spend the next three days in your room.” Once found, I grabbed the flowers and the rose thorns that were beside them, setting them both on the table in which I would be working; then, I set out to find the jar of ashwinder eggs.

“It all depends on how well you behave,” he countered.

“If you say so.” It felt odd to banter back and forth with him, but it was so easy to do. The ashwinder eggs were quickly found and so was the belladonna that I needed, both of which were sat to the side. Next was butterscotch and cinnamon, cinnamon being my own ingredient. They were both in the pile of ingredients, and were set to the side. Then, I began looking for moonstone, but as I looked and looked, I couldn’t find it. “There’s no moonstone.”

“Silly me, I must have forgotten to summon it,” he replied, amused, before summoning the ingredient. “It would appear that you’ve brewed this potion more than once or twice, Ginevra?”

“Maybe,” I countered. Finally, I was looking for my last three ingredients, the pomegranate juice, rose oil, and standard potioning water. Which, once found were also sat to the side.

I began by measuring the water into the cauldron and beginning the beginning steps of making the potion; I was in my world now, doing something in which I was comfortable—what I was used to.  It was as if Tom wasn’t even there. It was just me. I couldn’t help but remember the little vials that Fred and George had sent me to put the potions in, perfume bottles, and me having to address my packages to my aunts Fredra and Gretel. Not all of the potions got shipped outside the castle, though. There were a few students that would come to me to “smuggle” in product from the twins’ shop, with a little extra fee that I got to keep, of course. The rest of the money was shipped in my care packages.  

Just as I had begun to hum softly to myself, I was interrupted. “It’s quite interesting to watch you brew. That’s the most care I’ve seen you have with anything since my arrival, with the level of accuracy and lack of apparent concentration, it would seem that you’re an expert with Amortentia.”

“Didn’t you know,” I asked, mock enthusiasm seeping into my voice, “I was one of Snape’s most skilled potioneers in training.” I rolled my eyes as I stirred my current mixture three times counter clockwise, watching as the potion turned the most beautiful shade of ruby red, just as it was supposed to.

“Oh, and I’m sure Snape would admit to your level of expertise in the art?” he questioned.

“Absolutely not. His words would be more likely along the lines of menace, but Slughorn, your darling potions professor, would tell you with much detail about my skill at potions making. Granted, he would more likely want to talk about my Bat Boogey hex, he would also be inclined to tell you about my knowledge in potions, even though I hadn’t learned a thing in his class. Most of the Gryffindors hated Snape, but he sure could teach.” After I had finished talking, I had realized what all I had said. “I didn’t mean—”

“No need to explain, Ginevra. You finally told the truth. Who knew that pressing on another’s mind with their own could yield such results.”

I looked up at Him to see that he was no longer lounging, but sitting up quite straight and quite focused at me. My eyes narrowed to slits. “You… you…” I could feel the heat rush into my face. “You _bastard!_ You think you have the _right_ to just weasel your way into my head and to… to… bloody force me into speaking what you want me to say!”

“Calm down, Ginevra, I was merely curious—”

“Piss off. Stay out of my head. I can’t wait until the day Harry kills you!” I screamed.

He shoved the chair backwards as he propelled himself from it, storming over to me and pressing his wand against my throat. “Don’t you _dare_ mention his name. You are mine now, and if I want you to speak the truth, that is what you will do. If I want you to stay silent, you will be _silent_. Now, since it appears that your potion now needs to steep for the next fifteen to twenty hours, you can begin working on your Arithmancy assignments in _silence._ ”

I opened my mouth to retort, but no words could come out. He had silenced me! Pissed, I shot up my two fingers at him, storming over to and trying to open the door. Still locked.  My hands shot to my hips as I sent another icy glare to the evil wizard that had trapped me.

“No. You are not leaving. Sit. Do your work.” He pointed at the chair in which he had been sitting.

Frustrated, I blindly reached for the book he had thrown earlier and aimed it at his head. Had he not ducked at the last second, the book would have hit its mark. In response, Voldemort threw back a Cruciatus curse, which I had managed to duck under before being hit with the second one thrown, and again, the pain shot through my body and brought me to my knees. It was so much worse when he was angry, and this time hurt more than any of the previous; he didn’t release me as soon as he had been, either. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t scream.

Defeated on the ground, I remained still. My little burst of rebellion, was gone and all that was left was the hallow feeling of defeat. Finally, I did get up and slowly—carefully, walk over to the chair, lowering myself down into it before grabbing my Arithmancy book along with a foot of parchment. There was no quill and inkwell out, so I had to look up to Voldemort to signal that I would need one.

He glared down at me, still upset at what had just transpired between us, but he sighed and retrieved the needed items from his desk, gingerly holding them out for me to take. I took them from him and sat them on the table beside me, opening up the crystal inkwell and placing the rather expensive looking quill inside.

Then, I began to work until my eyes grew dry and blurry, my stomach groaned with hunger, and my neck felt sore from sitting the way I was. I had completed all my Arithmancy work with no problems. I had trudged my way through my charms homework. And I had bored myself nearly to sleep with my History of Magic homework, which was currently three quarters of the way done.

“You may stop and go wash up. It’s almost time for dinner,” Voldemort replied evenly. “You’ll have a set of clothes on the vanity in there as well.”

“What do you mean, it’s almost time for dinner,” I bit out, immediately surprised that I could speak again.

“Just that, Ginevra. You slept until lunch, and I thought to have a house elf bring you something later but didn’t find you deserving, so now, it’s about time for dinner. Go wash up,” he added plainly.

Fury built back up in my chest, but I forced it down. I didn’t need to make things worse, so instead, I walk into the bathroom and got myself ready for dinner.


	7. Chapter 7

It took a few minutes for me to get ready for dinner. I scrubbed at my skin as I bathed, rubbing my skin raw in the spots that _he_ had touched. Angrily running the bush through my hair when I was done, ripping out strands of the Weasley red hair. I felt better afterwards, but the ache rose to the surface, still fresh. Whatever Tom was up to right now, it wouldn’t be good; he had always played for the long game. His philosophy had always been that few games were won in the first few moves, that a true victory had to be carefully set up and planned.

I understood that he believed me to be the source of some sort of power, but why was he trying to win me over or revert me back to the way that I used to be towards him. It would be easier for him to simply put me under the Imperius spell, or to even seduce me with a love potion, which could be his intent. It was odd that he had me brewing the potion. Sure, we were at that point in class, but none before had brewed it. The potion being viewed by some to be more dangerous than even Veritaserum.

Did he plan to administer the potion to me, or did he merely wish to test my ability and attribute it to “his greatness” all in an attempt to win me that way? Did he wish to try and persuade me that when I smelled Harry in the potion, that I was really smelling him? Perhaps this was a distraction in order to keep my mind off of supporting the war. Or perhaps a ploy to spend more time with me in order to “woo” me. Maybe he had no plan with this at all, but that couldn’t be right. He always had a plan.

I stepped out of the room with my head held high. I would figure out what he was planning and beat him at his own game. I had to in order to survive.

“Are you ready, Ginevra?” he asked while rigidly standing up from the chair in which he had been sitting.

“I require food and just tidied up to be presentable to others, both are sure indications that one is ready to go to dinner,” I bit out. The little time away from him had renewed my strength against him. I could fight again.

“It is recommended that you watch your tone at dinner tonight,” he warned as we left the room. We were in the dungeons, not too far away from the Slytherin common room. “I will not be in the mood tonight to receive anything other than respect from students. Do you understand, Ginevra?”

“Understanding and complying are two very different things, aren’t they, _Professor?_ ” I snapped.

He sighed before pausing before the imposing doors of the Great Hall. “I also recommend that you hold your tongue,” he advised before opening the doors and walking in.

The Great Hall was already filled with the students; by the looks of it, everyone was in attendance. I couldn’t help but turn in order to go sit with the Gryffindors, but as I turned the evil man in which I had spent my day grabbed my arm and without any words being exchanged, led me to the front of the room, where he flicked his wrist and summoned a stool much like had been summoned during the summoning.

“Sit,” he commanded.

I shot him a glare before responding. “I would rather not. What’s going on?”

“As you wish.” He flicked his wrist again and the stool disappeared. That was when he cleared his throat and began. With a magically amplified voice, he began his speech. “Students…” Any chatter that had been going on silenced as he continued, “As you well know… disobedience will not be tolerated this school year. Respect will not be demanded, but immediately given to both me and the other professors this school year. Vandalism of school property will not be accommodated. And finally, any forming of unsolicited groups of rebellion are not permitted.

But Ms. Weasley here, she doesn’t quite seem to follow these rules, now does she?” He turned to me now. “Do you believe that you are above these rules, Ms. Weasley, or are you just too daft to understand them? No matter the reasoning, you will learn the ways in which things are run this year.” He paused.

“Many of you know Ginevra Weasley as Ginny or the Gryffindor Princess. You believe her to be as pure as your savior and as innocent as the child she was before Hogwarts, or rather before consorting with the Heir of Slytherin.” I could see a few people go rigid at the mention of that. “Of course a few of you know that your little Gin-bug aided in the opening of the Chamber, but even fewer yet know what transpired under the tutelage of the Heir…”

“Stop,” I demanded.

“You were all told that she was possessed during her first year. Without control over the events of her first year,” he continued.

“Tom, stop.”

“You see, her re-sorting wasn’t a mere fluke of a flawed system; she rightfully earned her passage from Gryffindor to Slytherin.”

“Please, Tom,” I begged.

“She was aware of all that happened that year, in fact, she even _begged_ for certain students to be persecuted. Who was the one that you were begging for the longest time to be petrified, Ginevra?”

“Please…”

“You felt that she was stealing your precious Potter from you. What was her name…?”

“Tom...”

“I’m not done, Ginevra. She was muggle-born, so she fit the profile, but I tried warning Ginevra that petrifying _Hermione Granger_ would only draw unwanted attention to her, but she _insisted._ ”

A tear began to make its way down my face as I desperately screamed out. “He’s lying! You can’t believe a word that he says!” I could feel all of the accusatory eyes land on me, looking at me as if they had never seen me before… looking at me with disgust.

“Then there was that other one,” he continued, unperturbed by my outburst. “The annoying first year… Oh, who was it? …Creevey?”

“He’s lying!” I tried again, but it was quieter.

“Enough,” he finally snapped before hitting me with the Cruciatus Curse.

I crumbled to the floor in pain, but instead of crying out in pain, I released tears of guilt and pain, sobbing. I had never known that grief could outweigh the effects of an unforgivable, but they did. Tom was right about both of those accounts, and I rightfully deserved the torture of the Cruciatus Curse for my actions—I deserved more pain than it could give, and all too soon he released me from the effects of the curse. Afterwards, I pushed myself up, ignoring my muscles’ screams for me to not move and the sticky liquid that I knew to be blood run down from my palms to the ends of my fingers from where my nails had dug in. And after what felt like forever, I was back on my feet, head hung.

“Let this be a lesson to you all. This is a new age here at Hogwarts. Rules will be followed. I can be a merciful lord, but only if you earn the right. Old forms of punishment have been re-instated and new ones will be utilized.

You may take your seat at the Slytherin table, Ms. Weasley.”

I stood there torn for a moment. More than anything, I wanted to return to my seat at Gryffindor, but I knew that Tom had successfully severed any friendly relationships that I would have with any of them, but I couldn’t go to Slytherin when it would just further drive home the point in which had been brought up.

So when Malfoy walked up to lead me to the Slytherin table, I did the only thing I could… I ran. I sprinted out of the Great Hall. I sprinted up stairs. This would look bad as well, but I needed time… time to regroup… time to _think_. And there was only one place that I could go now… Almost blindly, I ran to the seventh floor, and had I been in a better state of mind I would have been stunned at the lack of spells thrown to curse or stun me. But I made it to the room, and the room welcomed me just as it always had.

The room appeared to me as a re-creation of the Gryffindor common room every detail exactly as I remembered including the black spot on the rug from Exploding Snap.

With adrenaline gone now, I stumbled toward the fireplace which had a fire going. The closer I got, the more my vision became obscured by tears and within only a few meters, I finally allowed myself to collapse to the ground, curling up into a ball in the same motion.

Nothing would ever be the same again… I felt broken and tired, but as I tried to blink away tears and steady myself, I noticed the bright Gryffindor colors that I had sought out were fading to green and the room was twisting itself into a replica of the Slytherin common room. Which was when I realized… I wasn’t alone.


	8. Chapter 8

I whipped my head around, quickly wiping away any tears with the back of my hand as I did so. Once the tears were removed, I immediately noticed Malfoy leaning up against the wall near the entrance.

“Figures you would come here, Weasley. If you really wanted a common room, you could have went to ours.” He lazily pushed himself away from the wall and took a step towards me.

“I’m not a bloody Slytherin!” I cried out, scrambling off the floor to get away as he got closer to where I was, but my effort was proven futile as he shoved me back to the ground, dropped down, and pinned me below him, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t throw him off.

“Again, with your Slytherin bigotry! What is so wrong with Slytherin?!” he questioned, his voice low, but his voice full of emotion. Cold—merciless. “You think we’re the snakes. You think we’re all evil. Think before you speak. You belong to Slytherin. Think about it for a minute.” By the end of his lecture, his grip on my wrists was painfully tight. Then suddenly, he pushed himself away, as if repulsed by my presence. “From what we all just heard, you’re more disgusting than anyone else currently in Slytherin.” He began walking away, and I jumped up, reaching for my wand before realizing that I didn’t have it.

Turning his head to send me a final glare, he spoke: “Before you decide whether or not you really belong in Slytherin, get to know one. Or perhaps everyone in Gryffindor is too prejudice to actually try and view things through their own eyes.” Then, he left, the colors of the room returning to the way it was before.

His words stung, and there may have been some truth to what he said. I was disgusting. But I knew a Slytherin. I gave my heart to a Slytherin. I nearly gave my soul to a Slytherin. I was nearly destroyed by a Slytherin. He was the head of Slytherin—probably still was. No matter what I had done, I didn’t deserve to be there. I don’t intentionally hurt people. I’m not power hungry.

 _“How do you explain the Chamber, then?”_ a voice in my head asked. _“How do you explain your relationship with Harry? With yourself?”_

“It’s all Tom’s fault…” I mumbled. “He made me do those things back then… My relationship with Harry isn’t because I search for power. He’s sweet. He’s what I need.”

_“Did he really? And what about the relationship you have with yourself? You’ve always fought to have control over yourself. To be in control of your actions. Your mind. That’s one of the reasons you started cutting, wasn’t it?”_

“It’s his fault…” I replied, covering my face with my hands. “He did this to me.”

I moved my hands and looked down at them. Blood had begun to shine on my palms, dried and cracking in spots with small down feathers stuck in the drying liquid. This was just like my nightmares, but I was still awake. I hadn’t had this happen since the summer between my first and second years, and I was thrown back six years ago. The chickens had just been killed. I had to write on the walls. I had to feed the basilisk.

No! Not again! There was only one way that I knew to remove myself from the nightmare. I had to be brought back to the present. I had to be brought back to a world where I felt pain. I couldn’t just let Tom take over and make things better. I had to wake up.

The room knew what I needed and all I had to do was ask for the knife. It wouldn’t be the knife in which I had used to purify my thoughts in the past, but it would have to do. The nightmares couldn’t just replay. I needed to be in control of them; I needed to extinguish the Ginny that killed the chickens, opened the chamber, fed the basilisk, and petrified the students (even a ghost and a cat).

So I asked for the knife, and it appeared, silver with a clear stone in the hilt. It was a pretty knife, but I didn’t care. I needed to forget. I brought the blade down onto my wrist, dragging it quickly over the skin, the blood pooling around the blade as it rushed to the surface. The cut was so deep and stung, but I was still stuck in the past. The blade moved up my arm, making cut after cut, none quite as deep as the first, but they all stung equally and none brought me out of my trance. The nightmare was still playing through my head.

Why wouldn’t it stop? I cut myself to repent for hurting the others, but the thoughts still weren’t going away… I wanted to kill the chickens. I wanted to petrify those that stood in my way, but this wasn’t me. Tom pushed his thoughts on me. _But did he really?_ I didn’t want to hurt people. I still don’t want to hurt people. _But I want to hurt Tom. I want to hurt Malfoy. I want to hurt other Slytherins and Death Eaters._ But isn’t it different? No one wants them around. They’re evil. _But it’s still the same…_

I threw the knife across the room. “Will you shut up?!” I screamed at my thoughts. “You’re wrong!” Tears began making their way down my face—tears of frustration and tears of sorrow. With the knife gone, I noticed that I had begun to tremor, I felt light headed, and I was falling forward.

Then, the entrance to the common room was destroyed. And there stood Harry atop the rubble. I could hear his voice, but it was like being under water… muffled. Time slowed down… then… I blacked out.

XxX

I was back in the same dark woods as before; I was dressed the same, but now dark red was soaked in the bottom of my gown, traveling up about four inches above my ankles.

The dark Ginny came out of the woods in front of me, just as she had before.

 _“What are you doing,”_ she scolded. _“Do you think that you are really doing anyone a favor by hurting us? Think. Look at what we could have. What we could be.”_

“Go away. You’re not me. You’re not real.” I closed my eyes, willing her to go away.

 _“Of course I’m you. Don’t be thick. I am the you that you have locked away. This is my corner of your brain and you_ cannot _will me away or you from my corner. You_ will _hear what I have to say.”_ I could feel her grip my chin much like Tom had.

 _“You’re ashamed of what we did our first year,”_ she stated. _“Don’t be. Look at how we were treated. Look at how few cared. Even your parents only thought of you as an afterthought. They were worried about Ron and Harry, a boy who isn’t even theirs. You’re their only daughter, but they never gave you a second thought.”_

“You’re wrong… They did care.”

_“Bullocks. Not once did they ever owl their daughter during their first year. But looked how often they owled Percy. He received owls weekly from our parents. The only “owls” we got was when Ron received his Howler and our Christmas sweater.”_

I shook my head, backing up, trying to get out of her grasp. The ice was cold on my feet, but her words were colder. And they were true.

 _“But Tom cared. Tom spoke to you daily. There were_ weeks _that you would go without talking to your own family. When you cried, Tom listened. When you were joyful, Tom was happy for you. When you were bullied, he taught you spells to repel your enemies._ No one else did that for you. For us.” She didn’t yell, but her voice cut deep. She was harsh and cold. Just like Tom.

“It… it was all a lie.” I couldn’t get away from her. I was backed against a tree and she was pressed up against me.

 _“You and I_ both _know that is not true. Tom was never stupid. He did everything for a reason. Bragging about taking you into the Chamber was a tactic. You told him all about the trio’s inability to keep their noses out of where they didn’t belong._ Heknew. _”_

“Ginevra,” it was Tom’s voice, but it was silky and _sweet_ , “you’re bullying yourself. She will see soon enough, my dear. You will completely be mine.”

Finally, I was able to cast myself from my dream.

XxX

I shot up, dizzy and nauseous in the Hospital Wing of the school. Every movement made it worse, but the light pouring over me did its best to calm me down. My heart raced and echoed in my ears. It was difficult to steady myself, but eventually, the room stopped spinning. What had happened? _Harry saved me._

Just as the thought went through my head, a voice much different than the warm voice I expected spoke. “You’re awake.” It was T—Voldemort. He sounded extremely irritated and much colder than he had in my dream. “Now,” he lectured, “what did I tell you about this… habit? Did I, or did I not,” he continued, his voice rising and becoming colder and more intense, “tell you to stop.”

I was silent.

 _“Answer me!”_ he hissed.

“I…I don’t really think it’s your decision what I do to myself.” It hurt to talk; my throat felt raw, and my voice came out more like a whisper.

His wand shot up and pointed itself at my face. He was breathing heavily, apparently trying to calm himself down. “You contain a piece of me, thus you are my business. You will end your self-destruction. Even if I must force you.” He paused before calling out, “Send in Longbottom.” Alecto Carrow stormed into the room, pulling Neville along by his wrists. “Longbottom is your friend, isn’t he?” he questioned.

“Neville isn’t friends with monsters. I am a monster. So no.” I knew that Tom was up to something, so I had to think fast.

“I could always tell when you lied to me, Ginevra.” He turned his wand to Neville. “Crucio.”

Neville’s screams echoed throughout the room as he dropped to the floor. I had seen Neville tortured by the Carrows before, even Bellatrix, but he never had fallen and screamed as he did now. It tore me apart, hearing him in agony, writhing on the floor.

“Stop it!” I screamed, my voice breaking at the end. “Please!” I begged.

Voldemort lifted the curse and I couldn’t help the look of hatred that I shot his way. How could he do this to Neville? Sweet, innocent Neville.

“Are you going to respect me, Ginevra?” he demanded.

“Yes, Headmaster. Just please… Not my friends.”

“You won’t try to lie to me again?”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“You will stop this infernal habit of harming yourself.”

“Yes, Headmaster. Just please…” I pleaded. I couldn’t believe that I was begging the darkest wizard of the age for mercy. Looking down at Neville, I could tell he felt betrayed by me, but I had to do what would keep us both safe.

“Address me by my name, Ginevra.”

“Headma—”

“Crucio,” he hissed, hitting Neville once again with the Cruciatus curse. Neville fought back his screams better than he had before, but they still existed. I shot up out of the bed, trying to get to Neville’s aid.

The room spun and I fell to the ground before even taking a step towards the agonizing boy. My vision blurred with my tears.

“Tom, please. Please stop this… Please, Tom.” I closed my eyes. He wasn’t Tom. Tom was my friend. He died, and this monster took his place. The Tom I knew was a brilliant student that attended Hogwarts, not the dictator that had taken the school by force.

The foul man finally lifted the curse. “Take him away,” he commanded Carrow, and she did just that, too eager to please her lord. Once again I was alone with this murderer. This demon.

“Let’s get you back into bed.” He bent down and reached to help me up before I smacked away his hands.

“Don’t touch me,” I sobbed, pulling my knees up to my chest. Neville didn’t deserve that. He was put into that position because of me. Although it was my fault, I wasn’t the one that issued the torture. I was tainted, but I wasn’t evil, and I would be damned if I let evil touch me once again.

“Ginevra,” he warned.

“Just… just go away.” I tried to stand again, only for my legs to give out from under me. My knees cracked as they hit the ground, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I just felt numb.

“I can’t do that,” he muttered almost to himself. “Come on, let’s get you up.” This time, when he reached for me, I didn’t bat his hands away. They wrapped around my midsection and slowly hoisted me up, supporting all of my weight as he laid me back into the bed. “You need to eat,” he observed, his displeasure showing in his tone. “You are far too frail, but for now you must sleep.”

“Why… why do you do this to me?” I inquired.

“Because no one else will,” he responded automatically. Tom used to respond that way when I would ask him why he cared when no one else did. He used the excuse to convince me to take care of the basilisk. He because he took care of me, I should take care of another, especially since I couldn’t compensate Tom with the same care that he gave me. He also told me this when he said he would protect me.

“I’m sure any of your servants would torture me,” I mouthed off, refusing to let his words get to me.

“Ginevra,” he warned. Although his voice held the obvious traces of a threat, it was also soft—concerned.

It’s an act, I thought to myself. He’s using you to get to Harry. It’s always been about getting to Harry. _Not everything is about Potter,_ my other voice resonated through my head.

“Please…Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Sleep, Ginevra. You need it. You have lost a lot of blood and need to recover. Even with potions, you need time to revert back to health.”

He grabbed a potion off the table and tipped it into my mouth. I would have fought him, but the energy required to do so was lacking. Immediately, I began to feel drowsy. “But—” I argued before being cut off.

“Sleep,” he commanded. “We will talk later.”

That was the last thing I heard before sleep totally overcame me.


	9. Chapter 9

I spent about a week in the hospital wing after that. Malfoy brought me my homework on a day to day basis, spending about two hours a day tutoring me. He was smarter than I had thought, although Ron and Harry’s descriptions of him would have been a bit biased. It was to be expected that he would be above average intelligence, since he was raised by Death Eaters who had cultivated him into a wizard talented enough to mass murder muggles and other wizards. His father had never been a push over in a fight, but Malfoy was borderline brilliant—probably about as smart as Hermione.

In the days that I spent with him, I actually was finding it bearable to be around him. He regarded me as an intelligent individual and was very proper; his nature was a little refreshing after having grown up in the country with brothers that didn’t exactly know how to act cultured. I still resented him after what he had said in the room of requirement, but he did have a bit of a point. I was no better than them. Just because most Slytherins I knew were evil, didn’t mean that they all were; I knew there were some people in Gryffindor that weren’t exactly saints.

And just because I could stand to be around Malfoy didn’t make us friends. He was still working for his beloved lord. I was just another mission to him. Even so, I still preferred the time I spent with Malfoy to the time I spent with the dark lord.

 He-who-I-shall-not-name spent a couple hours with me most days as well, much to my dismay. It was usually during dinner that he would come up to the Hospital Wing. “To make sure I ate,” he would say. During this time he would converse with me as to how my classes were coming along, curious as to how Malfoy was doing as my tutor. It was only when I was with him that I wasn’t magically bound to the Hospital Wing, and a couple nights, he encouraged me to go with him for a walk about the castle. Much to his disapproval, I always denied. “I’ve had a long day and I’m still feeling pretty weak,” I would claim. He knew that I was lying, but he never pressed the issue.

Then, there were my nightmares. They never stopped. Every night since I had first woken up in the Hospital Wing, I had the dreams where I was in the forest with the dark Ginny. Sometimes, Tom was with her, but most of the time, it was just her. She would implore me to talk about my day and how my relationships had changed in the past week, questioning me as to why none of my previous “friends” from Gryffindor had stopped by to see me when Malfoy and Tom saw me daily. I would tell her that Malfoy only came because he was instructed to, but she didn’t seem convinced, and as far as Tom coming to see me was concerned, he only did so in order to try and convert me to his cause or because I had some bloody piece of him inside of me that supposedly added to his power. Again, she wasn’t convinced. She also would ask me as to when I was going to ask Malfoy when tryouts were—they had to be coming up soon.

My conversations with her were always civil, but when they were finally coming to an end, she would say something about my family or friends that hurt. Why had I been sent to Hogwarts when my parents were made aware of the dangers? Why did my friends believe a known liar and deceiver over someone who they had spent the past five years with? She would tell me that it was only a matter of time before I ended up with her Tom, and that I couldn’t refuse that part of me forever…

“Hey, Weasley, how are you feeling today?” Malfoy asked me, dragging me out of my thoughts as he sat his bag down next the chair as he sat down beside my bed.

“Just the same as yesterday, Malfoy. And the day before that, and the day before that,” I replied, sighing.

He studied me for a moment. “So you still aren’t feeling any better? Perhaps Pomfrey needs to increase your dosage of potions?”

I shook my head. “Its not that.”

“And you’re eating?” he questioned.

“Of course. Your lord wouldn’t permit me not to.”

He visibly tensed up as he always did whenever I mentioned Voldemort to him. “You’re still looking pretty thin, Weasley. Sure, most guys prefer girls to be thin, but not frail. You really should start eating more.”

“I don’t think my eating habits should be any of your concern, Malfoy. Besides, I’m a Weasley. I will never be frail.”

“Of course not,” he contested, “what was I ever thinking.” The sarcasm that Slytherin was known for laced his words. “Perhaps a duel, then. You win, I will leave you alone about my concerns for your well-being.”

“And if you win?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You will start taking better care of yourself. You look like you’re forty, not seventeen.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel special, Malfoy. Forty. Thanks.”

This time, he sighed. “There was a time where you were the embodiment of health and confidence. It would be refreshing to see some of the light return to Hogwarts. So, do we have a deal, or no.”

I smiled. “Aw, did the all powerful ferret have a crush on me? It doesn’t matter. I won’t lose a duel.”

“I have never had something as silly as a crush, especially not on a Weasley. It has just been dull lately without the youngest Weasley making heads turn; it was entertaining to watch your brothers beat up the poor blokes that you dated. So do we have a deal, or no?” He held out his hand for me take. I reached out to shake his hand and instead he raised it up to his lips, sending both of my eyebrows into my hairline. “Duels can be a bit destructive and we will need a mediator, so tonight, when Headmaster Riddle comes for dinner, we will have our duel.”

My jaw clenched. “No.”

“But Miss Weasley, you have made a deal,” he playfully chastised. “Do you not live up to your word?”

I could feel my fist clench unconsciously.

“That sounds like a wonderful, idea, Mr. Malfoy,” _He_ interrupted, making his presence in the room known. “We don’t even have to wait until tonight, either. We could do it now. I would thoroughly enjoy mediating this duel, but Ginevra, are you sure that you are feeling well enough to duel? You haven’t hardly been out of bed that I’ve seen.” I could hear the real meaning behind his words. This was his way of acknowledging to me that he knew that I knew that he knew that I had been lying to try and minimize the time that he and I had spent together, saying I needed to rest. “In fact,” he continued, “I was just coming to check on your progress, Ginevra, to see if you are ready to be discharged from the Hospital Wing. This will be the perfect opportunity to asses whether or not that is feasible.”

Malfoy stood up, grabbing his bag, and begrudgingly, I too stood. I grabbed my wand off of the table and slipped on my shoes.

“Shall we go?” _He_ asked, turning towards the door. Malfoy immediately fell into stride behind his lord. Hesitantly, I did the same, although my hesitation was noticed. “Not looking to back out, are you, Ginevra?”

“No,” I bit out through clenched teeth. “Weasleys keep their word.”

“Of course.”

Voldemort led us out of the castle and into the bright fall afternoon. We walked for quite a while until we were at the edge of the lake. He stood with his back to the water and turned to us. “Let us try to not send anyone to the infirmary. Ready?” We both nodded. “On the count of three.”

Silently, Malfoy and I faced each other, raising our wands. Malfoy took deep bow, which made my head-bow look insufficient and uncouth. Then, rising back up, we both turned and took a few steps away before turning back towards each other.

“One…” _He_ started the count. “Two… Three—”

The word “three” hadn’t even fully left his lips when I shot my famous bat-bogey hex towards Malfoy, which he effortlessly deflected with a non-verbal shield. The spell looked weak and I could feel my wand almost fighting me. I didn’t have much time to mull over the thought though as Malfoy began sending an onslaught of spells in my direction. I barely got my shielding spell up in time and my shield began to crack after the first few spells shot. As my shield broke, I threw myself to the left, starting my own series of attacks. Each one only contained a fraction of the power in which I knew I could cast, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t summon enough energy to strengthen my spells. Suddenly, Malfoy hit me with a tickling curse. I held onto my wand, and tried to fight through the sensation, but I had lost. There had only been a handful of duels that I had ever lost, and I hadn’t expected this to be one.

“Well, Weasley,” Malfoy began, lifting his curse, “a bet is a bet. Make sure you hold up your end of the deal.” And not even waiting for a response, he turned away and started making his way back up to the castle.

I turned towards our mediator and shot him a glare. “That was your fault.”

“I assure you, Ginevra, that I did not interfere with your duel. You lost of your own accord.” He studied me a minute. “It would appear that even with the extra attention, that you aren’t getting enough care. I will arrange for Mr. Malfoy to escort you to your classes and meals. You will spend all of your time in class, in your common room, or under the supervision of Mr. Malfoy or myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Piss off. I can take care of myself.”

“Ginevra, the matter isn’t up for debate. Also,” he paused, “how many times must I remind you that your disrespect will only further irritate me.”

My grip on my wand tightened as I fought back the overwhelming urge to try and curse him; if I were to curse him, I wouldn’t let my wand fail me when it came to the darkest wizard of the century. “I _politely_ ,” I spat, “decline your offer of care and supervision. Now, if that would be all, I have homework in which I must attend, _my lord._ ” A year ago, I would never have known that someone could bow sarcastically, but I was sure that I did at this point. I could feel tension building as my headmaster became more and more irate with actions, and his fury was what fueled my fire—reminded me of the side that I was on. It reminded me that I had to fight, not only for myself, but for my family and my friends who put their lives countless times in danger to overthrow evil from its reign of terror. I had to try and do the same.


End file.
